


Ghost Repeater

by femmenerd



Series: Winsisters [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Other, girl!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-23
Updated: 2007-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:19:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenerd/pseuds/femmenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in my AU “John had two daughters” ‘verse. Stanford era. This one is Dee POV. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>The runt grew up, got tall and spindly, hardly ever took her nose out of a book. Sam got pissier too with age, especially with Dad. Much less fun to tease. Now Dee wonders if she should have seen it coming–if Sam was always going to leave.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Repeater

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ [here.](http://femmenerd.livejournal.com/176606.html)
> 
> Title from the Jeffrey Foucault song.

Being a Winchester is complicated enough; Dee likes to keep her men simple. 

The first one–the one who popped her cherry–was older, and she never caught his name. She was fifteen and they were never coming back to that town again. Dee’d decided her virginity was cramping her style, and a gas station bathroom was as good a place as any to get it over with.

Dude fucked her up against a wall, Dee’s T-shirt-covered back rubbing against fading graffiti with each thrust. It hurt some yeah, but she was used to pain. By the time it got good-ish, he was finished and Dee pulled up her skivvies quick, tossing the condom in the trash, feeling rock and roll.

She still made it back in time to get Sammy fed and load up the Impala. If Dad suspected anything, he never said. 

*****

Sam’s been gone for almost two years when John and Dee head up Interstate 91 to check out a series of hauntings reported in southern Vermont. The work is slow; every time they follow a lead, the shit stops flying once they arrive. It’s like taking a tempermental car to the garage, and it starts like a charm once you’re there. So Dad leaves Dee on watch, and takes the truck up to Canada. There’s supposed to be a poltergeist there or something; Dee’s not entirely sure. Even though Dad’s been sending her out hunting on her own for awhile now, some things he still keeps close to his chest. 

This place isn’t half bad though, and it makes Dee miss her sister like crazy. Even though these little Yankee towns are quaint as fuck with their covered bridges made out of wood and farmer’s markets and shit like that, it’s all still a little rough. For one thing, they have demolition derby, and any “sport” that involves ramming crappy cars into one another is Dee’s kind of thing. Sam could have her soy lattes, and Dee could still eat greasy diner food. It would be great. 

But Sammy has other things to do–smart things to learn–so Dee’s on semi-vacation by herself. She watches cheesy procedurals on TV, polishes her guns until they gleam, and takes her time detailing the Impala. 

*****

The second one wanted to be Dee’s boyfriend. He was a sloppy kisser with a big dick. Too nice for his own good. They started hanging out because he had a sweet ride and seemed to know how its insides worked. The only thing Dee liked better than boys acting stupid over her was the purring of a pretty car. 

It was fun for awhile, but pretty soon the way he touched her hair after he got off started freaking Dee out. Talking about “spun gold” and other pansy stuff like that. She’d started liking him too much.

***** 

Every morning Dee goes to the same coffee shop to glom onto their wireless, doing her part, but still nothing’s showing up. The coffee guy starts giving her free refills and, she thinks, the eye.

She bums a smoke off him on one of his breaks. Dark hair falling lazily in his face as he drags on his cigarette with precision, battered paperback in hand.

“My kid sister read that, I think,” Dee says.

“She’s got good taste.” His eyes start flitting all over, curious but polite. Dee smiles with teeth, tilting her ass into his line of sight. 

Boys. Even the egghead ones are easy. 

*****

The third one–well, Dee stopped counting after the third one. She had a runt sister to take care of after all. Fun was fun but she couldn’t get too caught up. 

*****

Most men, in Dee’s experience, don’t take too kindly to having their asses handed to them by a girl. She’s become an expert in hiding what she needs to, when she needs to, in order to get what she wants–be that information, cash, or a deep dicking. 

Sexism, she always says, is a great help in the fine art of pool sharking. 

It’s been a long night, a good run, and she’s got enough cash to hang out here for a week or so more at least. Hopefully Dad’ll come back soon because there’s only so many times you can hustle in a small town. 

She’s preparing to get good ‘n drunk when he walks over, loping along in black work pants that are awful worn for a life of pulling espresso drinks. “Coffee boy!” Dee says conversationally, already a little whisky-loud. “You wanna buy me a drink?”

He stares at the wad of bills overflowing from her chipped red nailpolish fingers and smirks sassier than she would have expected of his pretty-boy ass. 

“Fine.” Dee slaps a twenty down on the bar, grinning. “We can play Sadie Hawkins. Whatta you want?”

*****

The runt grew up, got tall and spindly, hardly ever took her nose out of a book. Sam got pissier too with age, especially with Dad. Much less fun to tease. 

Now Dee wonders if she should have seen it coming–if Sam was always going to leave.

*****

He’s not her type. Well, he wouldn’t be if she had one. Too wiry-skinny, lashes too long. Quite possibly too much going on upstairs. But Dee takes him back to her motel room anyway, figures a fuck’ll take her mind off of what’s taking Dad so damn long, whether Sam likes California, all of that. 

Getting him naked is kind of a hassle–too many shirts. Underneath his skin's soft-golden, covered in tattoos–weird ones, arty with colors and shading, some jailhouse too. “My history,” he says, stroking lightly up Dee’s leg and crawling her like a cat. 

Dee’s ready and raring to go go go, but he’s going to town down there with fingers and tongue, licking her like it’s fun. So she makes fists around his ears and says, “You don’t have to do all that. I’m a sure thing.”

He laughs and points his tongue hard on her clit. “Shut up and let me make you come.” 

After, he starts telling her things–how he’s from here, taking a break from some fancy school.

“My sister’s a geek like you,” Dee says softly, letting her legs quiver post-orgasmically under the covers, unseen. Then randomly, “And I think she’s a dyke.”

He quirks a brow. “You think those two things are related?”

“What? Being smart and liking pussy? I dunno. Seems to be the case with you.”

He laughs again. Dee likes it.

She lets him spend the night. 

*****

One night turns into two, into three. 

“What’s Dee short for?” he asks in the dark. 

“Ain’t short for nothing. It’s just my name.”

He gives up easily, starts rubbing lopsided circles into the back of her naked knee. “All right, _Dee_ , so what do you like? Besides coffee, I mean.” 

“Drinking. Setting things on fire,” she answers reflexively. 

He smacks her ass lightly. Smiles. 

“I’m fuckin’ serious,” she says. “What do you like? Besides books and interrogating strange women, I mean.”

“I like fucking you.” And his fingertips travel higher. 

*****

When Dee gets really, really hammered she starts seeing Sammy everywhere. Has to resist drunk dialing. Sometimes she fails and ends up breathing miserably at Sam’s answering machine. There’s another girl’s voice on it now too, sweet and light like every cheerleader who ever looked at Dee like she was trash. Jess. 

_You better be making her happy_ , Dee thinks, clicking her phone shut and taking another shot. 

“Think maybe you’ve had enough?” he whispers into her ear, hands big and warm on her hips above the waistband of her jeans. 

Dee swings around on her barstool, licks a stripe up his neck and smiles at the smeary lipstick print there. _I was here_. 

“You’re pretty,” she says out loud, manhandling her way under the complicated gift-wrapping of his layers of shirts. “And very, very _good._ ”

“You’re tanked, girl. I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t have a home,” Dee mutters but lets him lead her out to the parking lot. Lets him drive the Impala back to the motel, slurring warnings and instructions all the way.

*****

Two glasses of water later and Dee convinces him to fuck her from behind, long fingers digging into her back. She curses and bellows like a porn star at first, then falls silent.

He kisses the tip of her shoulder with soft lips after he comes, and Dee shudders.

“You’re a hell of a woman, Dee Winchester,” he says, curling his long body around her curves. 

“Go to sleep, Casanova,” she whispers, feeling oddly fond.

*****

In the morning, Dad finally calls, says he’ll meet her in New York.

“When’d you get there?” Dee asks quietly, scratching her panty-clad ass and staring at the sleeping boy in her temporary bed. 

“No time for questions now, Missy. We’ve got work to do.” John’s voice is tinny and low through the receiver. 

“Yes, sir.” Dee hangs up and starts rooting around for her keys, tossing shit into her duffel.

*****

“You’re leaving?” he asks.

“Got to,” she says, and pulls on her boots. “Look, if I ever come back here, I’ll look you up.” 

He smiles then like he knows her, a little sad. Dee leans down over the bed for a goodbye kiss, but he catches her cheek with one hand and stops her. “I hope he comes back to you.”

“Who?” 

“Whoever it is you’re pining over.”

She snorts, and kisses him anyway, with extra tongue. “I don’t pine,” Dee says. “But this has been fun.”

*****

Dry leaves crunch under the Impala’s wheels as Dee pulls out. She glances at the trees and mom and pop stores on the way to the interstate, fiddling with the radio dial.

This really was a nice place.


End file.
